


The Voice.  The Secret.  The Pain.

by KliqzAngel



Series: Make Me Want You.  Want You to Make Me. [1]
Category: Leverage RPF, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Angst, BDSM, Dark fic, Dom/sub, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, self destructive tendencies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-20 22:38:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6027967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KliqzAngel/pseuds/KliqzAngel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Voice</p><p>The voice is the only thing he has to keep him from going over the edge, but it may not be enough anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Voice.  The Secret.  The Pain.

**Author's Note:**

> This series will be darker than what I usually write. All but one story came out in first person POV, which I don’t write much so I hope it came out alright. This is for an old prompt challenge over at Jared Chris on Livejournal.
> 
> This was written by someone (me) without experience in this type of relationship. I did do research, and speak with friends who do have experience in this world. I tried my best to be true to this type of relationship and not get too far out over my skis. I do understand abuse and BDSM are NOT the same thing. I tried very hard to make sure that while both are discussed in this series along with self destructive tendencies, that there was a difference.
> 
> Please no throwing stones. I won't enjoy it, and the series is old enough it won't change anything.

It’s the voice on the other end of the line that pulls me back from the edge. That drawl all thick and easy and unassuming. It’s so deceptive. It lulls people into thinking he’s too soft to do the things that I need him to do to me. It makes people think he’s too innocent to love to bring the pain he inflicts on me. It makes him mine and me his. It makes this secret mine and mine alone to share with only him. 

I know the truth. I know the man under the voice. I know the hands. I know the arms. I know. I know what the looks mean that only I get to see. I know what lurks beneath the surface of those puppy dog eyes. I know that the puppy dog is really a Rottweiler and I beg for everything he brings me.

Only now he’s too far away. Too far to give me what I need to take away the urge to just jump off that cliff in front of me. He says he’s close, and he is. So, close and yet not close enough to be able to do to me what I need done. 

See I can feel it lurking beneath the surface. I can feel it crawling under my skin, looking for a weak spot where it can break free of the cage he it put it into. I need it. I need him. 

And, if he only knew he’d fix it, but I am stubborn and not ready to admit he knows what I need better than I do. So I stay quiet, and he stays ignorant. Every day I slip a little closer to the edge needing the release only he can give me to keep me up here on the cliff.

But, all I have is the voice. That sexy deep drawl that can strike with the deadly precision of a rattler one second, and soothe away all the pain in the next. And, I need that. I need the pain and the soothing. I need all of the bad taken away, and the good brought back. 

But he’s not here, and I’m not there, and it’s not going to go away anytime soon.

It’s telling me things right now that voice, telling me things to do to myself to tide me over ‘til he can get to me, to bring me what I need. Things that would be OK if I hadn’t slipped so far from where he thinks I am, from where it is that he left me. But self inflicted pain isn’t working anymore. I can tell in the way I snap at everyone, and soon I know it will be even him. I can feel the arrogance and the attitude taking over again, pushing away the real me, shoving away all he gave me. 

At night I clutch at the strip of leather around my throat, and cry desperate tears in the darkness where no one can see. When the light of day comes, I shove down all the loneliness and the anguish. When he calls and asks, I hide all the frustration bottling it away inside deep where I think it can’t get out. 

Only it’s not buried so deep anymore. 

It’s getting closer to the surface every day.

And yet, still I lie and insist everything is OK.

Because I can handle it.

I can handle everything. I can do it all. I can because I am Christian Fucking Kane.

And he’s just a happy puppy dog named Jared Tristan Padalecki, because the voice isn’t enough anymore, and I have lost.

 

The End

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of several older fics that I have decided to post to AO3. They've resided for years on my personal archive, but I am thinking of getting rid of it. I want to make sure some of them are posted here. So, if you think you read this or some others I am posting over the next few days somewhere before... you probably have. They were also posted on LiveJournal.


End file.
